Semi-Daily Scribbles

Home was a concept Gary didn't grasp. He felt worry-free and comfortable standing in the middle of his dad's garden, where wisdom popped its head up once in awhile out of the black gold. Mostly, though, Gary felt jostled and rushed no matter where he landed. He operated on a five-second delay, so it was welcome relief on the rare occasions he caught up with himself. Dad's pea patch afforded Gary a break from the jagged fissures which tripped him up. He couldn't pitch a tent amongst the salad greens and call it good, could he? What did the word home mean, really? Gary lived in an efficiency apartment, and he felt as connected to that space as he did to the farthest reaches of the galaxy. In fact, the Milky Way seemed more cozy than his cold and rumpled hide-a-bed. He could save a lot of money if he moved out of the flat and paid his parents a weekly campsite fee. Gary was faced with hard decisions. He needed to pinpoint the source of truth, but that didn't leave much time for his job at the sandwich shop. Gary also needed to find a place where he belonged. He should have known better than to move into a building called The Homestead. It wasn't home. Instead, it was a big, brick box of gossip and boiled cabbage, neither of which got Gary closer to the prize.